


Irresistible

by applepieisworthit



Series: THE DURINS AREN'T AS MAJESTIC AS THEY THINK THEY ARE [6]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Durins falling over, F/M, Fluff, Humour, Love, awkward love realisation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:38:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3753112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applepieisworthit/pseuds/applepieisworthit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hrera would like everyone to know that she certainly did not fall over thank you very much</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irresistible

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sansûkh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/855528) by [determamfidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/pseuds/determamfidd). 



> the next instalment! for the lovely Dets!! (from whom I have stolen Hrera)

She hadn’t noticed it at first but Thrór had been acting different in public to usual.

When they were alone he was lighter; freer to show the emotions he held back from showing his Ereborian subjects and any visiting dignitaries, and in public he was stoic, not allowing emotions to show. He had been on the throne for nearly 50 years and for many of those he had been young and, as many said, too inexperienced to be a proper King and because of this Thrór had learnt to hide any vulnerability that could be prayed on by opportunistic Dwarves. 

This visit was so very different though, the Lord of the Iron Hills, and Thrór’s baby brother, Grór was visiting with his wife and several advisors with him, including his and Thrór’s uncle Borin who had left Erebor for the Iron Hills nearly a decade ago to help with the marriage negotiations between Stera and Grór.

Stera was a stern Dwarrowdam, head of the healer’s guild in the Iron Hills and working her way up to becoming guildmaster, even at her young age of 83, two years older than Grór. Hrera got on with her very well and the two had spent much of the last three weeks of the Iron Hills delegation’s visit getting to know one another (much to the horror of both Thrór and Grór).

Thrór had been almost carefree for the last few weeks, laughing more, spending much of his time grinning at his baby brother – quite stupidly if Hrera did say so – and Hrera was becoming worried about her husband’s sanity, madness did run in his family.

Whilst she was slightly worried she also loved seeing him being less stoic and closed off and had caught herself more than once staring at him admiringly as he commanded a respectful silence in his regal, Durin blue clothing, his beard in elaborate braids, oiled and arranged by her hands that morning, and his glittering blue eyes flicking over to her every few minutes, a hidden smile in their depths.

She had also found herself drifting away thinking about him when he wasn’t around more in the last few weeks than she had in their twenty one years of marriage so far. Her every other thought, whatever it was about, revolved around whether Thrór would like or appreciate this item of clothing, or that jewel, or a certain dish. Hrera was incredibly confused but still certain possibilities that may seem obvious are pushed to the back of her head and denied. This was a very out of character move for Hrera, so, sooner or later, things were going to come to a head.

It was a sudden realisation, after a slow build that she hadn’t noticed, that she was irrevocably in love with Thrór, son of Dáin, King under the Mountain, and her husband. She was walking with Grór when she realised that she loved the Longbeard idiot of a King.

In her shock at the realisation she stopped paying attention to where she was walking and her foot caught in the elaborate folds of her court dress and she was sent sprawling, her bejewelled arms flailing and finding nothing to hold onto, her lips parted in shock and spilling all manner of curses in Khuzdul that she would never have dreamed of uttering in respectable company if she had not been falling flat on the floor at that moment. 

She lay there in utter horror as she contemplated wishing for the marble floor to open up and make her disappear.

She heard a gasp from behind her and then her brother-in-law was rushing for her and helping her to feet as quickly as possible. She stood there in shock for a few seconds, the witty words that usually flowed from her lips absent. Grór placed a hand over hers as she fished for words that wouldn’t come to her.

“Namad, please, we are family. You must not trouble yourself to come up with an explanation for the supposedly foul language you just emitted, I have heard far worse from many considered as pure as you I'm sure.” Hrera continued to stare at Grór in mute shock as he carried on, “The real concern is if you are okay, sister? What ever happened to make you fall so?”

Hrera opened and closed her mouth a few times, unable to come up with an explanation. She understood now why her husband was so much more relaxed with his brother beside him, Grór was a soft spoken and incredibly kind Dwarrow, who would clearly do anything for his family. Though she knew from Thrór that he was a fierce warrior when the situation called for it.

“I am unsure as to what happened brother.” She was lying through her teeth and she knew that Grór could sense it, but she wasn’t going to tell him before she told his gamil nadad.

Grór raised a sceptical eyebrow at Hrera, holding his arm out to her to help her, “Can you walk Hrera? You haven’t hurt anything have you?” Hrera shook her head lightly taking a few steps before wincing at the pain that shot up her leg from the foot that had gotten tangled.

Grór shook his head at her incredulously, “You and my brother were clearly meant for each other; you are both as stubborn as one another.”

“A Broadbeam noble is never stubborn, we merely know what is best in any situation.” Hrera said through pursed lips as she tried to control the pain coursing through her now she had noticed her slight injury. Grór shook his head disbelievingly before catching her arm more firmly and starting to pull her gently along beside him.

“Where are you taking me Grór?! Unhand me at once; I refuse to be dragged along like a naughty Dwarfling.” Grór stopped and stared back at Hrera for a few seconds consideringly.

“I’ll let you go namad, if you promise to accompany me to the royal healers and let them check your leg to ensure there is no severe damage,” Hrera stared at him her nostrils flaring in her annoyance before she let out an almost inaudible huff and nodded stiffly at Grór.

He released her arm and smiled softly down at her, offering her his left arm to help her along to the healers without it looking to others that he was helping her. He knew that his brother’s wife was an incredibly proud Dwarrowdam and would not want to appear weak in front of any subjects that might possibly see any weaknesses.

When they arrived at the royal healers Hrera was cringing and wincing slightly with each step and Grór had been slowly supporting more of her weight as they walked. Her ankle had clearly been twisted when her boot got caught in her skirts and Grór didn’t like to think about how Thrór would react to knowing that his wife had fallen over and injured herself whilst walking with him.

They were ushered into a private room, reserved only for the King and Queen and Hrera’s leg was given a quick and thorough check over before being declared just a twisted ankle and wrapped tightly in bandages to help with the healing. 

Whilst she was there they offered to do a thorough check up, and Hrera, being the Dwarrowdam that she was, accepted. 

She barely controlled a flinch at the blank face of the healer when he re-entered the room. Borin, Thrór’s uncle and the royal healer, had a very expressive face, so a blank face was worrying to Hrera, and as a realistic Dwarf she assumed the worse.

Grór beside her was staring at his uncle in worry too, “Irak'adad what is wrong with her?!”

Borin smiled benevolently at the two of them and chuckled quietly, “Khul nadadul, everything is wonderful.”

Hrera stared wide-eyed at Borin, wondering what exactly could be good news when he had looked so unlike himself earlier, “What is it? I must know now Borin!”

“Calm yourself please Hrera, you are usually much calmer than this.”

“You are agitating me irak’adad!” Hrera huffed, rearranging her slightly rumpled skirts around her as she stood from the examination pallet.

“You are with child iraknâtha.” There was a surprised intake of breath from Grór beside her but she barely heard it, her heart was beating loudly in her eyes, she could hear the whoosh of her breath leaving her in shock and her stomach tightened with nervousness.

She heard herself as if down a deep mineshaft, “I’m what?” her voice was breathy and distant, barely a whisper.

“You are going to be an ‘amad Hrera.” There was what seemed like a bright flash and then blackness. Grór watched, still frozen with shock, as his brother’s wife fell for the second time that day. Luckily Borin was there to catch her before she hit the ground this time, an amused expression colouring his handsome Longbeard features. 

There was also a hint of excitement hidden in his eyes. Any child was the most precious gift a Dwarf could receive after a wife or husband, and a royal heir was even more precious, though Borin would have treasured such a child even were he not the Uncle of the King. A child in the first three decades of a marriage was a blessing from Mahal himself.

Borin carefully lay his nephew’s wife back on the pallet and elevated her feet until she awoke from her faint. He then walked up to his nephew and, when waving his hand in front of his face didn’t work, punched him lightly on the arm, and then harder again when the first failed.

Grór was brought back to himself spluttering, his mouth opening and closing silently for a few minutes before he finally gathered himself enough to speak, “A nadan? Hrera is going to have a nadan? But… it’s so early uncle! How can this be?”

“‘Ikhuzh irakdashatith! We do not question the ways of Mahal, you know this. He has chosen to bless your nadad with a nadan, and it will be celebrated.”

Grór frowned at his uncle, “I wasn’t questioning you uncle, I know our customs as well as the next Dwarrow, and I am just amazed. Mahal has blessed this family with a child and I could not be happier.”

Borin chuckled lightly and patted his nephew on the shoulder (much too hard in Grór’s opinion) before striding over to Hrera and reviving her slowly from her faint. When she had recovered from her fainting fit Grór helped her back to her room, both of them stumbling every few seconds from the shock of the discovery. 

Grór left Hrera sitting numbly on the edge of the royal bed, her hands clasped loosely in her lap, her braids, always perfectly arranged, were in disarray around her head where she had ruffled her hands over her head. It was not a state she would have ever allowed anyone to see her in if she had been completely aware of her actions. 

Whilst Grór hurried to fetch his brother so that Hrera could tell him the news, said Dwarrowdam was – subtly – freaking out in their chambers. 

The more she considered the fact that she was going to be an ‘amad, the harder she found the urge to laugh hysterically to repress. It was the thought that her child would be the Crown Prince to Erebor and Durin’s Folk that sent her over the edge. She could no longer control the laughs bubbling up from her roiling stomach and spilling past her lips in loud almost sobs.

When Thrór entered the room he found her doubled over, clutching her hands to herself just below her stomach, her shoulders shaking with the force of the half-laughs falling from her parted lips. Thrór glanced back at his nuddadud standing just outside their rooms in confusion and worry, Grór just smiled back at him benevolently and walked away to find Stera.

He cautiously approached his wife who looked up at him through eyes glistening and eyelashes stuck together with tears. He rushed the last space between them, drawing her into his arms and resting his head on top of hers.

“What is it sabannimi?” He stroked his hand lightly over her head and her hysterical laughs still erupting out of her devolved into heaving sobs that shook her stout body in his arms. Said arms tightened around his kurdulu in worry as a frown furrowed his brow; he pressed his lips to her ruffled braids and mumbled endearments to her.

“We… I… Thrór!...” her voice cracked over his name and he pushed her away from him slightly as her sobbing took on a happier edge.

“Hrera? Âzyung? Please tell me, whatever is the matter?”

Hrera stared up at him a watery smile strengthening on her beautiful Broadbeam features, “We, Thrór, I went to see Borin…”

Thrór interrupted before Hrera could get more out and she let out an exasperated huff at the beginnings of his rambling worry, “Hrera! Why did you go to Borin?! What’s…?”

“If you would let me finish, you stubborn Longbeard,” here she stabbed one of her stubby fingers into his broad chest and then placed that same hand on his face, cupping his cheek, “you would realise that absolutely nothing is wrong,” Thrór opened his mouth to say something else but Hrera shook her head at him menacingly and narrowed her eyes, “biragabakmi nadan melhekhel.”

Thrór’s eyes widened massively and the hand he had resting over Hrera's on his cheek faltered for a second, “You… what?”

“A nadan Thrór. You are to be an ‘adad.” Thrór couldn’t control his reaction to this news, his legs gave out beneath him and he slid to his knees as his wife’s words washed over him, an ‘adad! He was to be a father, he would finally have a family and he couldn’t control the sobs that tore themselves from his very soul.

He looked up through tear filled eyes at his wife, his beautiful wife and the sudden realisation struck him like lightning. He loved her. The stern, taciturn Dwarrowdam who had been distant when they first met but had become his world so slowly over their years together that he hadn’t noticed his growing love for her. His ghivasha, who was carrying his nadan! His heir! This was a blessing from Mahal and Thrór could not contain the thick tears that spilled from his eyes and streaked in rivulets down his face.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, her thick hands tangling in his beard beside his ears and brushing gently through his sideburns. She pulled his messy head forward to lean against his and closed her eyes, tears slipping from beneath both of their closed lids as they shared a quiet moment together.

Thrór brought his large hands up to either side of Hrera's face, tilting it up until they locked eyes, “Âzyunguh. My Âzyungel. I love you. Sanazyunguh.”

Hrera could not have stopped the silly grin spreading across her face if she had tried, “I love you too, ghivashel. You are my umurad. Sanmelekuh.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next up: FRERIN!!
> 
> Khuzdul (courtesy of the Dwarrow Scholar and Dets):  
> Umurad – soul  
> Âzyungel – love of loves  
> Ghivashel – treasure of all treasures  
> Sanmelekuh – my perfect (true/pure) half  
> Sanazyunguh – my pure/perfect love  
> Âzyunguh – my love  
> ‘adad – father  
> Nadan – child  
> ‘amad – mother  
> Umurad – soul  
> Ghivasha – treasure  
> biragabakmi – I expect  
> melhekhel – king of all kings  
> âzyung – love  
> sabannimi – beautiful  
> kurdulu – heart  
> namad – sister  
> nadad – brother  
> gamil nadad – old brother  
> Irak'adad - uncle  
> Khul - peace  
> Nadadul – brother’s son  
> Iraknâtha – niece  
> ‘Ikhuzh - stop  
> Irakdashatith – little/young nephew  
> Nuddadud – tiny brother


End file.
